The Code of Harry
by JenkinsDLP
Summary: An event at the Dursleys causes Harry to change. To become something more vicious, unstable and delivering. Sometimes to kill monsters, one must become a monster themselves. Slight Dexter!Harry.
1. Prologue

Mrs. Figg wiped the sweat from her eyes as she laboured, hunched over her rose garden. Bending back and hearing the bones creak and pop under the stress, she surveyed the results of five weeks hard work. Reds, whites and yellows peppered her front lawn, looking simply superb if she did say so herself. Certainly enough to rival Petunia's and Mrs. Haggleton's gardens, that was for sure.

She sighed and clucked her tongue, shielding her eyes as she gazed up at the clear blue sky. This summer was certainly a scorcher, she considered herself crazy to be out here in the sun all day, every day. Not as crazy as little Harry and his not-so-little cousin, Dudley. Always running about and screaming. She assumed they always played some tag, and Dudley always seemed to be it since she constantly saw them pelting around the neighbourhood, Dudley with a feral grin on his face as he raced after Harry. _Boys will be boys_, she supposed.

As if on cue, she heard hurried footsteps growing louder as they pounded down the pavement. Leaning over the hedges, she looked down the street and sure enough, there were two figures in the distance. Leading the chase was the unmistakeable black hair of Harry Potter, who looked as though he was running for his life. Bringing up the rear, doing what appeared to be a surprisingly fast leaping motion, was Dudley Dursley.

Mrs Figg felt bad for the boy, he was only young and had already inherited his father's – to put it lightly – pudgy figure. As Harry passed her in a black and white blur, she tutted and turned around, bending back over her roses. She hoped they would be a little careful; she wouldn't want to have to call Albus about a young boy's death because of silly games.

XxX

He was tired.

He was hot.

He was _scared_.

He had been up at the playground all on his own because Aunt Petunia had told him to leave her alone while the nice electrician came over. He'd been minding his own business, just tossing a couple of sticks around when Dudley showed up. Harry _accidently _threw a stick at him as he rode past on his bike, but he never expected it to hit. Dudley had stood up next to his fallen bike with red grazes on his arms and face. He looked so angry when he turned to Harry. So Harry did the smartest thing he could.

Harry ran.

He hated Dudley, he really did. They were both only eight years old, but Dudley was always so mean to him. He pushed him over all the time and stole his lunch at school, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn't ever believe him. They just yelled at him. That was really scary too.

They weren't as scary as Dudley right now though. So Harry ran home.

His feet hurt from running non-stop all the way from the playground but he was almost there, he couldn't let Dudley catch him now. He saw old Mrs. Figg's house coming up on the left but he didn't even consider stopping there. Mrs. Figg was wrinkly and old, there was no way she would be able to help him against Dudley, who was still running after him like that mean dog Aunt Marge had.

Zooming past Mrs Figg, Harry felt a bubble of hope in his chest. He could see his house! He was gonna make it, and Dudley couldn't do anything about it. He stole a look behind him, Dudley wasn't far behind but he could make it inside where Aunt Petunia would stop him from being killed. She'd just give him jobs, and that wasn't as bad as having Dudley jump on you. That was a fact.

Leaping over the hedges, Harry jumped up to the front door of Number 4, stumbling just a little on the front steps. Wrenching the door open, he leapt inside only to feel a quick rush of air and a sharp pain on his chin. He had tripped over a jacket and a big heavy bag, which probably belonged to the electrician Aunt Petunia was speaking about as she did her hair.

He stumbled up and started to head towards his cupboard, but it was too late. He felt Dudley's meaty hands grab him and throw him into the kitchen. Harry landed roughly on his back and his funny bone exploded in pain as it smacked sharply on the shining linoleum floor. He looked up, the beginnings of tears in his eyes at his cousin who stood panting heavily in the kitchen doorway.

"Dudley, I - I'm sorry," Harry said, stumbling up to his feet. "It was an accident. I never meant to hit you, I'm so sorry." He was really scared now as he looked at the furious Dudley Dursley. Dudley moved forward and shoved him into the counter, where Harry's head smacked into a big cake bowl, sending it skidding across the counter to hang precariously over the corner.

"I don't care if you're sorry!" cried Dudley, and Harry could faintly hear tears of pain in his voice. The fall off of his bike must have hurt more than he thought. "Daddy says you're a freak, and not normal like me, so you tried to hurt me since you're just jealous that Mummy and Daddy like me more than you." Dudley sneered as he said this, the sting of the words not lost even with his high pitched, child's voice.

Glancing at the counter, Dudley grinned and picked up a long, serrated bread knife. He looked at Harry and his smile got even wider.

"Are you scared, Harry?" he said, waving the knife at Harry. "Scared I'm gonna cut you up like a pirate?" He laughed as he said this, jabbing at Harry with the knife and causing him to cry out as he nicked him. It was only a small cut, but then again, he was just a small kid. Harry was really scared now.

Dudley laughed. "Stop being such a big baby, I'm just joking you dumbhead. Mummy would get angry if I hurt you too much…but I guess a little wouldn't matter." He giggled again and started waving the knife around Harry's face to scare him. As he reached back his arm to get a particularly wild swing in, he bumped the cake bowl hanging over the edge.

One touch was all it needed, it crashed to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces, but not before cracking Dudley's ankle on the way down. Dudley let out a shriek of pain and fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding and broken foot, tears running down his face. The knife had clattered to the ground, not far from Harry.

In the distance, Harry could hear voices and a slight thumping upstairs. He didn't pay any attention to it however, his gaze was drawn to the blood oozing out of Dudley's ankle and pooling on the floor. It was a rich, dark red and it spread so perfectly, a pool of liquid rose on the kitchen floor.

Harry felt an odd shortness of breath and his mouth went dry. _"It's so…pretty" _he thought as he gazed at the dark puddle of blood growing steadily larger, amid Dudley's quietened sobs of pain. _"I want to see more…"_

His gaze flicked towards the shining knife lying not too far from him and he reached for it, almost subconsciously. He picked it up and held it close to his face, where he could see himself reflected in the glinting steel. The cut on his shoulder was still bleeding a little, still throbbing.

The knife was sharp.

Harry stared into his reflection, an amazing sense of calm washing over him, backed by a primal urge to watch his cousin's life flood the kitchen floor. He moved forward slowly to Dudley, the knife dazzling in his hand, his eyes set on the blood.

Dudley raised his eye to Harry's face, getting his attention. The stared at each other and Harry saw those clouded blue eye widen as he stared at them.

"Harry…" Dudley choked out through his quiet sobs. "Harry, what are you doing?" He sounded scared.

What was he doing? Harry felt the calm, lustful feeling falter a little as he thought about it. It was wrong wasn't it, teachers always told them to play nice and never to hurt each other.

_But,_ said a forceful voice in the back of Harry's head. _He deserves it. He's mean to you. He steals your lunch and calls you names. So make him pay. He deserves to die._

That was that. Back was the cool feeling of serenity. Back was the thirst for blood. Back was the thought of the shining knife and colourful blood. Harry wanted to see the pretty blood. He wanted to kill.

As he leaned over his cousin, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs but he payed them no mind. He stared at the knife then at his cousin's heaving chest. Dudley looked back with terrified eyes, he was shaking like he'd just gotten out of the pool. He held the blade above Dudley's chest, the tip poking ever so slightly into his chest.

"Ha – Harry?" Dudley whispered. Harry's eyes snapped up to meet the watery blue ones.

"You deserve it, Dudley." He said softly. Then he plunged the knife in.

Dudley breathed in sharply and cried out as the blade sliced deep into his body, piercing the heart. Harry watched, fascinated as the blood flowed quickly out of his wound. It streamed across his chest spreading out and over on the sides like a blossoming flower. It pooled and spread on the floor, working it's way into every linoleum crack, joining up with the blood from his foot and covering even more of Petunia's floor.

Harry was smiling, he felt this strange, exhilarating rush spread through him. Looking down at his cousin, dead by his hands didn't feel wrong at all. It felt...prefect. He was happy.

At the moment, there came the sound of bare feet padding across the living room.

"...you two boys are fighting again when I told you I wanted my pri- " Aunt Petunia stopped talking as she entered the kitchen. Her hand flew up to her mouth and she let out a choked gaze as she stared at her son's bloodied body. Eyes filling with tears, she stumbled backwards, leaning against the pantry.

Harry looked up at her, his hands dripping with blood.

"Dudley deserved it, Aunt Petunia," said Harry in a soft voice as she rose her gaze to meet his. "He deserved to die, honest!"

The watery agonized look vanished as she stared into his eyes. Unbridled hatred replaced it, and her mouth twisted into a vicious snarl. Behind her, Harry could see a man talking on the phone, who kept glancing in his direction.

He saw Aunt Petunia get up and leap towards him but Harry just stared back down at Dudley's body and the rivers of red.

He smiled.

XxX

As Mrs. Figg climbed in her car, with her lovely new crocodile skin purse and purple shawl, she paused. She thought she heard someone yelling out from down the street. _Petunia probably dropped her cuppa,_ she thought and shrugged as she closed the door.

As she pulled out of the driveway, she cast one quick look at the ring Dumbledore had given her. Still blue, which meant Harry was fine. Nodding happily to herself, she packed it away in her purse and pulled out of the driveway.

Two minutes later, she was humming an old tune to herself as she pulled into Magnolia Crescent and she slowed down quickly to avoid three police cars. Shaking her head at the antics of the day, she continued along driving and humming to meet her friends for dinner.


	2. Chapter 1

_The intricate silver figurehead rapped down on top of Harry's knuckles. He lanced down at it calmly, the snake's eyes staring up at him as it pinned his hand to the dark steel railing of the staircase. The snake was cold, colder than the railing at least, which was slightly confusing considering it was rarely seen out of it's owners hands. _

_Harry's eyes left the blank figurehead's, rising up to meet the similarly cold eyes of another. Lucius Malfoy's piercing blue eyes met his unflinchingly, the tiniest bit of malice creeping into his otherwise unreadable expression. Harry felt a strange sense of purpose wash over him, and he new exactly what it meant._

_He had been called a monster, a psychopath, murderer, devil's child and insane. Harry knew it was true, just as everyone else who called him those names did. Well, save perhaps for 'devil's child', Harry saw that one as a little ridiculous. But there was one man who saw that Harry was all of these things, but more. A being with a purpose. The 'problems' he was diagnosed with, nothing more than tools he would use to carry out his own personal art. _

_Meeting the icy, expressionless eyes of Lucius Malfoy didn't bring Harry any sense of fear, or any sense of anger. He knew what this man had done, tricking a poor, helpless girl into absorbing the essence of one of the most powerful and cruel men in the world. He knew that given the chance, this man would do it again, and again, smirking all the while. He lived to serve a murderer and racist, and he showed all the attributes his 'long dead' master held in high esteem. Hatred, lust, violence and intelligence, all twisted into the mask of a charitable nobleman._

_That didn't fool Harry._

_A tight smirk crept onto the older Malfoy's face as he drew his cane back, never breaking eye contact. Harry held his gaze level, running through the situations and preparing the craft in his mind, focusing on what was to come. 'Be prepared', he had been told. As Malfoy smugly eased away into the Top Box, his shorter twin of a son following him in a wide strut, Harry turned calmly to meet his friends questioning gazes before finding their esteemed seats._

_A__s the sky burst into shades of green and glittering gold, while flashing metal rained from the sky and people screamed, Harry glanced out of the corner of his eye to where Lucius sat with his family._

_It was time._

XxxXxxX

Harry Potter leaned back, the black leather chair moving smoothly to accommodate his body weight. He stared at the files lying on his desk, twirling his wand idly between his fingers. There were four crème coloured bundles of parchment stacked neatly on his immaculate desk, each one containing the personal information of a recently-deceased witch or wizard. Three wizards and one witch, to be exact.

It wasn't very often that Harry got cases, and he couldn't even recall coming in to work to find four separate cases waiting for his attention. Though, if these four all turned up on the same day there wasn't much chance of them being unrelated.

He'd glanced quickly through each of them, to center himself about the whole situation first, and he noticed immediately why these particular four cases were given to him. He was well-known throughout the Auror's Investigations department as the guy who could handle the more confusing cases. His deduction and research skills had earned him quite the reputation around the place, enough for a rumour to spread about a considered induction into the Unspeakables. Unfortunately, he was also known for taking a slightly too enthusiastic interest in his cases.

Harry's speciality lay primarily with the use of particularly uncommon and brutal dark magic. If an Avada Kedavra was used, Harry was rarely involved. The Killing Curse was horrendously dark magic without a doubt, but it wasn't exactly uncommon. It did in fact count for about fifty-six percent of all magic related murders. If someone set out with the intent to kill, they normally wanted it to be untraceable and be done with quickly and cleanly.

Normally.

There were, of course, times when things were somewhat out of the ordinary. A murder scene where magic was quite obviously used, though the curse, intent and effect were far less obvious. Harry was fascinated by the dark arts and the ideology behind them and so, in turn, he found himself enthralled with his work. It stirred feelings deep inside of him when he saw the kind of acts one could do to another when they had the gumption to take the leap into power.

Today was one of those days. Four dead members of the magical community was not something to be scoffed at. Four members of the magical community dead with the sort of 'symptoms' these four had was almost something to be frightened of.

Harry had refrained from looking at the pictures as of yet. There was no need, the DMLE was efficient enough to get a quickly written report with photographs and medical scans written within about twenty minutes. The crime scenes were still out there waiting for him to check them out, he could be sure of that. Or at least, the latest one would be, as the reports indicated the other three murders had occurred over the last week. Harry briefly wondered why he was only just now getting brought in on the case, before quickly dismissing the notion, the answer was as clear as day.

He scratched at the light stubble that he usually kept on his chin to try to detract from the straight-cut jawline his father had left him and stood up. He'd grab a cup of coffee then apparate out to the crime scenes to see what he could garner in person. He picked up the four folders and stepped out of his respectably sized cubicle and into the carpeted hallway.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had always been a powerful, well-developed section of the Ministry and had become even more so following the death of Voldemort at The Chosen One's hands. It had been six years since Voldemort had finally been destroyed and they were still rounding up his followers now. There had been several small breakouts from Azkaban as well, without the Dementors to guard them, prisoners retained much more of a semblance of sanity and thus, were able to think intelligently. The Dementors had been wiped out by a powerful group spell performed by the Unspeakables. Not much had been revealed about how this had been possible, but there were mentions of Ministry experiments being the cause of fault for Dementor's existence.

They had been a hugely powerful part of Voldemort's army and easily the largest in numbers, so when the Unspeakables performed their spell, it cut down Voldemort's army by a considerable amount. Regardless, he still had a couple thousand human followers from all over the world, plus countless other creatures he had convinced into serving him.

The war had been long and brutal, but finally when Harry was nineteen, Voldemort was finally killed. Of course, as soon as he had perished, any of his followers with a vague sense of sanity had fled the battlefield in an effort to escape justice. It had taken four years to get most of them tracked and arrested, but the most difficult and possibly most dangerous ones were still out there.

And so, the DMLE had almost doubled in size and influence since Fudge's resignation at the start of the war. Many of the students who had graduated Hogwarts in the war years had graduated with an experience of battle and a want to do something about evil in the world, and so had signed up as soon as there was a semblance of peace and order.

However, as the numbers of loose Death Eaters dwindled, and violent attacks became less and less frequent, the Department had too many workers for a reasonable payroll. Many people took rudimentary combat training to be ready for war, should it come, then took off after other jobs. Harry, of course, was lucky enough to land a solid place in the Investigations department, whose job it was to tackle any spot murders, like muggle detectives.

Harry sighed as he reached the coffee lounge. He almost missed the days of furious battling, where dark magic and blood were always flying thick through the air. He took a deep breath and remembered the screams of battle, the twisting shocks of magic, colours of all types flashing through the air, devastating anything they came into contact with. He remembered the rush of it all, the glee he got as he hacked down one opponent after another, each falling to his spells. _His _spells. _His _choice to cast and to kill. He could remember standing under the beech tree with the cower-

"Sir?" came a high-pitched voice from about waist height. Harry jumped a little and glanced down at the house elf who served coffee and cakes at all times throughout the day. He was just the same as all the house elves Harry had seen, with the raggedy slave clothes and leathery, wrinkled skin. Harry ordered a quick cup of coffee which found it's ay into his hand almost immediately and he took a quick sip, grimacing a little at the bitter taste, but thankful for the awareness it would bring him.

He turned and walked briskly towards the Apparation Points, reeling in his excitement to see the crime scenes and keeping a passive face in place. This was going to be interesting.

XxxXxxX

Harry appeared in Knockturn Alley with a loud crack and muttered swearing as the scalding coffee splashed a little onto his hands. With a quick wipe on this robes and another sip of the offending liquid, he took off in the direction of the crime scene.

He rounded a corner where a little store that looked like it sold various animal body parts, and not the type you'd usually find in an apothecary. The shops in Knockturn Alley were certainly not the place you'd go to without a specific item in mind. He caught sight of the red-robed Auror guard force and approached the blue warding wire.

He stopped in front of the guard and allowed him to do a quick wave of his wand before flashing an ID card and stepping under the warding wire into the crime scene. Glancing up at the store sign, Harry smirked a little at the 'lucky' coincidence. This murder was starting to look better and better. He a breath to calm his anticipation and crossed the threshold into Borgin and Burkes.

"Potter!"

He was greeted immediately with the loud, sharp voice of his boss. Chief Investigator Neville Longbottom strode towards him with his usual surly expression on his face, which almost always got worse when he was within the same general vicinity as Harry. CI Longbottom had been wary, even frightened or hateful of Harry since they had fought in the war together. They had never gotten along in school, despite being classmates, but at that time they simply avoided each other. Now that they had some horribly vivid memories of the war about each other and a need to work together frequently, it made for a tough relationship.

"Sir?" Harry asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Where have you been?" the CI snapped, sending an annoyed glance towards the cup of coffee in Harry's hand, as if it was all the steaming beverages fault he was having a bad day. Well, any day with Harry was a bad day for him. "We sent the intial reports off to you about half an hour ago and we've had to keep the scene clear just for you so you could do your gimmick."

Harry opened his mouth to talk but was cut off quickly. "I don't want to hear it," said Longbottom, raising a hand to ensure silence. "Now, just get in here and start figuring out what the hell is going on."

Harry stared after his boss who walked out the front door, presumably to get a drink himself. Quickly sharing an amused glance with a nearby guard, Harry finished his coffee and strode into the back room from where Longbottom had just left.

As he walked through the doorway, his nose twitched as it picked up one of the scents Harry loved more than anything else in the world.

Blood.

Call it creepy or frightening, but Harry firmly believed that the metallic, sickly sweet smell of human blood was one of the most amazing scents in the world. And this room was full of it. He scanned the room and felt a sick feeling of entrancement as he took note of the deep scarlet splatters across the wall and floor. He shuddered a little as his gaze was drawn to the centre of the room where the body of the shop owner, Borgin, lay.

He took a few steps towards it, taking in every detail of the scene. Borgin's body lay face down in a pool of what was quite obviously his own blood. His dark blue robes had been stained a deep maroon from the amount of blood that he had oozed out. Judging by the sheer amount of blood which was pooled on the floor and splattered over the walls, Harry guessed his body must be completely drained of it.

And the magic. Oh Merlin yes, there was dark magic here. An almost familiar scent of it that Harry was sure he had seen before.

"Pretty horrible, innit?"

Harry turned to his side to take in the short, stocky body of Colin Creevey. Creevey was a new addition to the Investigations Unit, but he was a damn good scene photographer, and a good head on his shoulders for criminal psych as well. He brought his trusted camera up to his eye and snapped another shot of the body, probably trying to get it from every angle possible.

"This is the only look we've gotten at him so far," he continued, grinning up at Harry. "We wanted to wait for you before we started moving him about." He gestured unconcernedly towards the body lying on the ground.

Harry nodded, it was usual procedure. Let him come in and do a quick scan for any lesser known or scarily dark magic before doing anything to screw up the signatures. Harry could strongly detect a dark magic in the room. If you worked or used ark magic enough, you grew attached to it and could almost 'feel' it around you. And the magic in this room gave Harry a nearly orgasmic feeling.

"So, what do you think, Scooby?" asked Creevey, staring at Harry with interest. "Got a feeling on what killed him?"

Harry jerked his head. "Dark magic. Real dark magic." He said heavily, the feeling was starting to get to him. "Powerful stuff I'm pretty sure. I think I've felt it before as well, it feels so…familiar."

Creevey stared for a minute before nodding slowly. "Well, do you want more time or should I bring in the rest of IU to check it out?"

"No, send them in, I need to get a look at the rest of the body and area as well." He waved a hand at the recently, and horribly, deceased Borgin. "Can't tell a lot about him when we can't even see the wounds."

Creevey gave a quick two fingered salute before whistling shrilly. A couple of seconds later, Longbottom walked in with two other Investigators behind him, pulling on protective gloves.

"Well?" he snapped at me, probably annoyed at the lack of time for a coffee. "You got anything, Potter?"

"Strong, dark magic." Said Harry with a shrug of his shoulders, "Feels strangely familiar as well, but I don't have much more than that."

"Familiar, huh?" Longbottom inquired with a raised eyebrow, only to be answered with another twitch of the shoulders.

"Fine, turn the body over, let's see what killed him."

The two other Investigators stepped forward in all their protective gear and they grabbed Borgin by the shoulders lightly, turning him over to reveal the wounds.

There was a collective gasp throughout the gathered crowd as Borgin's front was revealed. His chest had been blown out. Literally. White shards of rib bones poked outward where it looked like they had been shoved through his chest. His entire chest, however, was missing. No skin, no muscle, no organs. You could see his spine and back muscles if you looked through the blood and bone.

"Well," coughed Creevey. "At least we know where all the blood came from."

Harry stared at the gaping wound in utter astonishment. No wonder the magic here felt so familiar. He turned to meet his boss's eyes, already anticipating the look he would be sending his way. The amazement, distrust, anger, disgust and fear. It had been the same look the last time Harry had been near a body with a similar wound.

Except Harry had been the one to inflict the damage the last time.

Oh yes. Things just got interesting.


End file.
